


The Dews of Your Melody scatter Delight

by tungstenpincenez



Series: The Green that Never Dies [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, M/M, holmescest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-12
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2019-02-01 12:31:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12705048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tungstenpincenez/pseuds/tungstenpincenez
Summary: Mycroft admires this portrait of a young man at dawn.





	The Dews of Your Melody scatter Delight

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to [The Very Pulse of the Machine](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12192828)

Mycroft awoke. Without consulting the bedside clock, he knew it was 5:00 a.m. Long habit had conditioned his circadian rhythm to bring him out of deep slumber at the same time every day. This morning, however, he would not arise from the bed. He rarely allowed himself a day off, and it was even more rare to have his brother…

Mycroft sighed as he realized that he was alone in bed.

A slight breeze alerted him to the opened doors of the balcony. In the early light of dawn, Sherlock stood silhouetted and motionless but for the occasional movement of his arm as he smoked, the wisps of his cigarette mingling with the halo outlining his naked form. 

Mycroft indulged in admiring his statuesque brother for several minutes before leaving the bed and padding softly toward the balcony. Sherlock sensed his approach: he stubbed his cigarette and raised his elbows so that Mycroft’s arms could easily wrap around his torso. He startled as a kiss was pressed into his shoulder. Even though the open fields were the only witnesses to what was commonly referred to as “public displays of affection”, the brothers had never demonstrated outside the enclosed space of the manor. Sherlock entwined his fingers with his brother’s and leaned into the embrace.

“Good morning, my love.”

It was Mycroft’s turn to be surprised, but he quickly recovered and smiled fondly as Sherlock turned an impish face and pressed a kiss to his lips. Sherlock fully turned and deepened the kiss as Mycroft loosened the tie of his robe to envelope his brother. They grunted at the touch of flesh upon flesh.

Having thus yielded to sentiment, the pair returned to the warmth of the room and dressed. 

As Mycroft prepared his brother’s favourite breakfast of eggs and soldiers, Sherlock mused at the quiet contentment. Their bond had evolved from brotherly affection to this fervoured and perplexing devotion once he’d reached puberty. And while he’d resisted and often cursed his complete emotional dependency upon his brother, he never once considered a life devoid of it.

Sherrinford had only clarified Mycroft’s significance. Death was infinitely preferred to life without this constant in his life. 

As if knowing his train of thought, Mycroft placed a tender kiss atop his head as he set the plate before him. Sherlock grabbed Mycroft’s hand and wordlessly insisted his brother sit by him as he fed him eggy toast, one after another. Mycroft’s eyes softened, and Sherlock knew they were both recalling those times when he was ill in bed and Mycroft had patiently fed him soup or porridge or anything he could coax the fussy patient to eat.

The brothers were silent for the duration of the journey to the airport. Mycroft did not get out of the car, but a discreet clasp of their hands was discourse enough.

**Author's Note:**

> PROMPT: Sherlock is standing on a balcony, naked, smoking a cigarette; you only see him from behind. Mycroft is watching him from inside the room.
> 
> The muse and I have been intrigued by this prompt that’s cropped up recently. We felt it the perfect vehicle for more Holmesian domesticity.
> 
> As the moon's soft splendour  
> O'er the faint cold starlight of Heaven  
> Is thrown,  
> So your voice most tender  
> To the strings without soul had then given  
> Its own.
> 
> The stars will awaken,  
> Though the moon sleep a full hour later  
> To-night;  
> No leaf will be shaken  
> Whilst the dews of your melody scatter  
> Delight.  
> ~excerpt from Shelley’s “The Keen Stars Were Twinkling”


End file.
